A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) Read online

  However, poison was far more difficult to detect, let alone prove, and the suspicion could fall on anyone should the source of Lady Drummond’s demise come to light. Though poison indicated a far more devious and determined mind than a husband losing his temper. Did Lord Drummond have a strong enough motive to kill his wife in such a premeditated way? Or was this the work of someone unexpected, someone yet to come to light?

  It rattled me to recognize that had I not been there that day, it was likely no one would have questioned the physician’s findings. The murder would have gone undetected, and the killer would go free.

  Of course, all of this was supposing that Lady Drummond truly did die from poison, which we had yet to prove. I supposed that was to be our first step if we were to embark on an inquiry into the matter. But I still needed to convince Gage it was necessary.

  “What of Lady Drummond herself?” I turned to ask. “Did anyone have anything unusual to say about her?”

  “I’m afraid not. Though that’s not surprising. People rarely want to speak ill of the dead.”

  He moved closer to stand beside me as I mulled over the information we had obtained and my own perceptions. I was still quite new at all of this, and I had never pursued an inquiry where we weren’t specifically asked to investigate. I didn’t know how to proceed, or even if we should, but how could I just walk away? My conscience would not rest until I was assured either that Lady Drummond had died from an apoplexy or that her killer had been brought to justice.

  I glanced up at Gage through my lashes, trying to decide how to convince him to begin an inquiry. I could tell he did not share the same doubts I did.

  In the end, I didn’t have to say a thing. He could read my thoughts in my eyes.

  “You still believe her death is suspicious.”

  “Yes,” I admitted, relieved to have it out. “It simply doesn’t sit right with me. None of it does.”

  Gage frowned. “Because of her argument with Lord Drummond the day before?”

  “Partly.”

  He turned aside, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “You do realize that you don’t know what that argument was about. You don’t even know what was in that letter. Lord Drummond may have been justified in his anger that day.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Maybe. But not in his treatment of her.”

  But he continued on as if he was not listening. “For that matter, we don’t really know what was happening in their marriage. Maybe Lady Drummond had wronged him in some way. Maybe there was a reason for his harsh conduct.”

  I knew what the law and society’s opinions were on the matter. I was intimately aware of just how little power wives had. They were to obey their husbands, to defer to their decisions, and when they didn’t, they could be punished. A woman had very few options if her husband chose to mistreat her, regardless of her class or status. Regardless of whether she was a duchess or a whore, she was still subject to her husband.

  But to hear Gage speak so callously made me go cold. After everything that had happened in my first marriage, I’d had a difficult time reconciling myself to the idea of marrying again. It was no small thing for me to willingly place myself under the authority of a husband. As a widow, I was considered to be under the protection of my brother, Trevor, and my brother-in-law, Philip, but their power only extended so far. I also knew I was safe with both of them. Neither of them would ever raise a hand to me no matter how I infuriated them.

  I trusted Gage, too. Or I thought I did. But from time to time I still feared I was making a terrible mistake.

  “Is that really what you think?” I choked out.

  Gage must have heard the apprehension in my voice, for he turned to look at me. His pale blue eyes softened. “You know I don’t.”

  I searched his face, seeing affection mixed equally with aggravation. I knew he must grow weary of my misgivings. He had been extraordinarily persistent with me as I adjusted to our engagement and upcoming nuptials, reassuring me time and time again of his devotion and reliability. There were still a few secrets he had yet to share with me, but I was trying to be patient in return, allowing him to decide when the time was right to confide fully in me.

  He reached out to take one of my hands. “What I’m trying to say, rather clumsily, is that we cannot begin an inquiry believing Lord Drummond is the guilty party.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You have to be objective. To treat every suspect with equal weight until the facts begin to definitively point in one direction or another.”

  Annoyed by his lecture, I arched a single eyebrow. “As you did during the inquiry into Lady Godwin’s murder at Gairloch Castle?”

  We both knew that I had been his main suspect when we began our first investigation seven months ago at my brother-in-law’s isolated Highland estate.

  His mouth tightened. “Yes, you were an early suspect, but I was determined to be as impartial as I could. Otherwise, I never would have allowed you to assist me.”

  “Oh, I see,” I drawled. “I thought you were just keeping me close, hoping I would betray myself.”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “Flirting with danger, then? Trusting you wouldn’t kill me next?”

  “Something like that,” I replied stubbornly.

  He reached out to toy with a loose strand of hair, making the skin on my neck tingle. “Actually, I knew you were innocent quite early on.”

  I looked up at him in question.

  “In the chapel cellar. When you vomited on the floor.”

  I blushed in remembrance.

  “If you were guilty, you never would have placed yourself in such a vulnerable position.”

  He was right. I had hated losing my stomach and my nerve in front of him, no matter how justifiable the reaction had been. Still. “I could have been faking,” I challenged.

  His smile was almost condescending. “You’re not that good of an actress.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Then why did you continue to treat me like a suspect?”

  “Even if I knew the truth, the other guests were still convinced of your guilt. I had to seem unbiased or risk their cooperation.” He tilted his head. “And once again, you’re not that good of an actress. Had I told you I knew you were blameless, it would have been evident to the others.”

  I wanted to argue, but he was undoubtedly correct. The four days of our investigation had been torturous for me, constantly wondering if I would be blamed for the crime purely because of my scandalous reputation. Would I have been able to feign my extreme agitation, my sleepless worrying? Probably not.

  Just as I couldn’t fake my true feelings about Lady Drummond’s death.

  Gage rested his hand on my shoulder, running his calloused thumb over my collarbone. “You are determined to investigate?”

  I nodded diffidently, and then with more assurance. “Something isn’t right, Gage. I don’t know if it’s poison or something else, but I won’t be able to rest unless we look into it.” I pressed a hand to his navy frockcoat. “Haven’t you trusted my instincts in the past? Haven’t they usually been right?”

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  “Do you think you can do so now?”

  “If you truly believe Lady Drummond was murdered. Then, yes, I’ll trust you.”

  I gave him a tight smile of gratitude.

  “But we must proceed with caution. If our inquiry is made public before we want it to be, we may run into difficulties.”

  I bit my lip, recalling how easily Lady Rachel had been able to deduce that I was suspicious. I would have to do a better job of hiding my feelings or all of Edinburgh would know what I really thought by the end of tomorrow.

  Gage’s eyes hardened with determination now that the matter was decided. “I think our first task is to figure out if she was killed by poison as you suspect, and if so, what type. An autopsy is ou
t of the question. Lord Drummond will never allow it, and without proof of any wrongdoing, no magistrate will overrule his decision. So we’ll have to gather our information another way.”

  “I can research some medical texts,” I offered. “Though I doubt it will be immediately apparent. Many poisons have similar symptoms, and they often imitate illnesses. Which is why they can be so difficult to detect, as in this case. As well as . . .” I hesitated, realizing that what I was about to say would be painful for Gage to hear.

  But he already knew. “As well as my mother,” he finished for me in a flat voice. She had been slowly poisoned to death, and it had nearly gone undetected because the symptoms mimicked her recent illness.

  “Yes.”

  He swallowed. “Then I’ll speak to Sergeant Maclean. He will know if there have been any other strange deaths or known poisonings in recent weeks. Between the two of us, we should also be able to question the local apothecaries and chemists to find out if anyone has received any suspicious requests lately. I assume you believe it was mixed into her food or tea.”

  “I honestly don’t know, though that is the most common method of ingestion.”

  He frowned. “I wish we could speak with Drummond’s servants. If Lady Drummond was poisoned by her breakfast, then someone among the staff was involved, whether directly or indirectly.” His gaze turned distant. “Perhaps Anderley should become better acquainted with the staff at Drummond House.”

  I’d wondered how often Gage’s dark-haired valet assisted with his investigations.

  I smiled wryly. “If he’s anything like his employer, I imagine he’s quite successful with the female members of the staff.”

  He didn’t try to deny how charming he was. “Anderley does quite well for himself.”

  I shook my head, not sure I wanted to know exactly what that meant. “I’ll also speak discreetly with some of Lady Drummond’s friends.” Including Lady Rachel. “Perhaps they know something that could be useful to us.”

  I didn’t tell him my planned destination the next morning, for I knew he would only object, and I had no intention of changing my mind.

  • • •

  The following morning I let Philip’s footman rap on the Drummonds’ door, which was swathed in black crepe, rather than stand out in the cold wind myself. I needed the footman’s assistance for this errand anyway. I watched as Jeffers attempted to argue with Johnny, but I had told the footman not to be turned away. Eventually the butler relented with a fierce frown etched on his face. Johnny hurried down the steps and helped me descend from the carriage before following me into the town house.

  “Jeffers,” I murmured, not removing my cloak. I thought I might have better luck if I at least pretended this visit would be brief.

  He gestured down the hall for me to proceed before him. “The canvas is still in the drawing room as you left it, my lady.”

  I swiftly surveyed the front hall and up the stairs, hoping Lord Drummond was absent, as he normally was during the midmorning when Lady Drummond and I had scheduled our portrait sessions. “I imagine the household is still in shock,” I remarked.

  “Yes, my lady. It’s been difficult to accept.”

  “I’m sure. I can hardly believe it myself.” I pressed a hand to my abdomen. “I can barely stomach a thing. Just the thought of what happened makes me nauseated.” I lifted aside the canvas covering Lady Drummond’s portrait to look it over. “Has anyone here been similarly affected?”

  Jeffers hesitated before replying. “I couldn’t say, my lady.”

  “Well, perhaps your cook is better able to tempt everyone into eating. I’m afraid the items on the sideboard at Lord Cromarty’s town house this morning did nothing but turn my stomach.”

  I could feel Johnny staring at me. He had been in the dining room when I cleaned my plate and went back for seconds.

  “Perhaps I might speak with her. Maybe she has some suggestions I could make to our cook.”

  Jeffers was definitely suspicious now. I was not accustomed to giving long speeches, particularly in front of any members of staff. Nor was it like me to be so rude, worrying about my appetite when this entire household, particularly the children, must be grieving horribly.

  “I suppose I could see if she’s available,” he replied carefully.

  “Who’s available?”

  I almost cursed when Lord Drummond strode into the room. He halted to survey the scene before him, looking well rested and not the least troubled by his wife’s recent death.

  “Mrs. Larkins,” Jeffers responded after only a small pause. “Lady Darby wished to ask her about the best food to eat for a stomach complaint.”

  I grimaced at how ridiculous it sounded when put that way. Perhaps I should have invented another pretense for speaking to the kitchen staff.

  Lord Drummond raked his gaze over me as if I was something particularly unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “She doesna appear to me to be sufferin’ from any loss o’ appetite.”

  I stiffened at his disparaging remark. I’d regained some much-needed weight since my return to Edinburgh after an emotionally harrowing winter, but I was far from plump. If anything I was still underweight by a few pounds.

  “No, Lady Darby doesna need to speak wi’ Mrs. Larkins.” He flicked his wrist toward the door. “Show her oot.”

  “Actually, I’m here to collect your wife’s portrait,” I announced before Jeffers could move to do just that.

  Lord Drummond glanced back at me, a guarded look in his eyes.

  “I thought I might finish it in my studio since . . .” I swallowed the grief that suddenly welled up inside me “. . . since there’s no reason for me to work on it here anymore.”

  His gaze drifted to the unfinished canvas propped on the easel still covered by a sheet. For a moment, I thought I saw some semblance of pain cross his features, but then it was gone, like a mirage. “Dinna bother,” he replied dismissively.

  I was stunned. He didn’t want me to finish his wife’s portrait?

  I watched as he picked up a stack of letters and began to flip through them, as if he hadn’t just done something so cold and unfeeling that it left me speechless.

  “But what of the children?” I argued. “Won’t they want to have a portrait of their mother? I would think it would comfort them.”

  He didn’t even look up. “Dinna worry, Lady Darby. You’ll still receive your full fee.”

  Fury shot through me, hot and swift. “I don’t care about my fee.”

  He flicked a glance at me.

  “What I care about is preserving Lady Drummond’s memory. So I’m going to finish her portrait whether you care or not. For I’m sure your son and daughter do.”

  He returned to his letters. “Do as ye like.”

  I was forced to bite my tongue lest I say something I would later regret. I couldn’t believe his heartless demeanor, his callous disregard for his children’s feelings about their mother’s loss. The portraits of my mother still gave me comfort, and she had been dead for almost twenty years. What kind of man was he that he didn’t care to be reminded of his wife’s image or preserve it for their children?

  But perhaps her portrait would only remind him of what he’d done. It would be difficult to bear her likeness staring down at him if he had hastened her demise. If so, I hoped it haunted him. I hoped it wracked him with so much guilt that his conscience would eat him alive.

  I directed Johnny in how to carry the canvas and then followed him and Jeffers from the room. At the threshold, I couldn’t resist darting one more spiteful glance over my shoulder at the baron, and was surprised to find him staring after us. The look on his face was one of extreme anguish, but of what kind? Grief or guilt?

  He turned away before I could decide.

  As I was crossing the hall, it occurred to me that I’d never seen a portr
ait of Lord Drummond’s first wife either. Was that because there wasn’t one, or because he didn’t wish for it to be hung in his home? Of course, I hadn’t been in every room in the town house. Perhaps it was hanging in one of the less public rooms out of deference to his second wife. Or maybe it graced the wall of his first daughter’s room—a memento of her mother.

  As if conjured from my own thoughts, I glimpsed a flicker of movement on the landing of the staircase. There stood the baron’s first daughter, Imogen. Her long, golden curls hung down her back unrestrained. In her simple gown, she was the perfect image of innocent young womanhood, and yet her eyes told a different story. They were watchful and sad, as if she had seen much, and was afraid of seeing more. Or was that my fancy?

  She gripped the banister tight beneath her hands. I considered going to her, for I suspected she had something to tell me, but then a voice called her name from above. Her head jerked toward the sound, and with one more backward glance at me, she lifted her skirts and scampered up the steps and out of sight.

  I frowned, wanting to abandon all pretense of politeness and propriety and follow her. But Gage had warned me not to reveal our suspicions and intentions too soon and I had already risked much coming here this morning. Besides, Lady Drummond’s body was likely laid out in her bedchamber above to be prepared for burial, and I had no desire to stumble upon it in my current state. So I stifled my impatience and forced my feet toward the door.

  I waited on the steps as Johnny struggled against the wind, carefully sliding the canvas into the carriage and propping it against the backward-facing seat. Then he stood to the side, offering me his hand as I climbed the steps into the coach. Just as I was about to duck my head inside, I felt a prickle along my neck and looked behind me once more. A curtain in a room on one of the upper stories twitched shut.

  “My lady?” the footman asked.

  I smiled absently at him, and climbed the rest of the way into the carriage.

  Who had been watching me—Imogen or someone else? And why? Did they have something to tell me? Or were they unnerved by my visit?